


New Years

by lovelyskies



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Other, is this a found family trope? honey I don't know, no shipping this time around srry, reunited and feels so good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyskies/pseuds/lovelyskies
Summary: Such an open, generous heart. There's always room to add another lost soul - giving them a place to belong. Of course, Layton brings a gift. Something hard forms in Sycamore's throat. He hugs the metal piece until he feels the coldness brush against his chest. Despair hidden away comes rushing out like a flood. When a somber man experiences this type of feeling, emotions double, triple even. Hot tears flow. He clutches his eyes shut and lowers his head into the object. It tings when his glasses meet the metal.





	New Years

A hollow, lifeless shell. Looted of what love it once held.

This home tailors itself to its sole resident - Desmond Sycamore.

It's far too vulnerable; filled with painful memories that keep wounds fresh. To the bedroom painted rosy pink, to the corridors that still smells of stray cats and cigars. Everyone left with Death himself.

Silence echoes through the halls. It mirrors a museum - spotless, still.

The owner swirls what's left of his glass in his hand. Tonight is meant for celebration, a new beginning. It feels like anything but.

Another restless day of studying and writing - for what? It's not like he can return to the world the man he once was. What was once a household name becomes something of distant memory. _Sycamore? Gosh, that name is familiar..._

Bottoms up.

He rinses out his drink and places it back in the cabinet. Another day passes, another X on the calendar.

He wishes to end this cycle once and for all; the knife on the counter ever the enticing. The most permanent way possible. No, he isn't afraid of pain. Just...something guilts him into living one day longer. One day, just one day, one day more. That was months ago.

He exits the kitchen and into the foyer. A yawn. Despite being so tired, he can never sleep. Perhaps tonight will be different? Doubt.

A knock.

He stops, both his heart and feet.

No, he must be imagining things. No one has come to his manor in ages.

Again.

Hesitantly, he treks to the large mahogany doors. He peeks through the stained glass, only to make out several figures.

Perhaps this is Targent deciding to finally finish him off? He isn't scared anymore. End it already.

He turns the nob.

Hershel Layton stands in the snow-covered path wearing a heavy beige overcoat. Beside him is a tall, young woman with her hair in a ponytail carrying something covered in foil. A boy stands behind, seemingly lost in his own daydream. Lastly, a toddler clutches the Professor's hand, the other thumb in her mouth.

"You're here," Layton utters, his breath creating a cloud of fog.

They stand, bewildered.

Sycamore swallows. "How did you find me?"

Layton blinks. "May we come in?"

He gives it a thought before stepping aside. Who are these people? He stares a hole into the family.

"Oh," Layton begins, noticing his shocked expression, "these are my children." Still flabbergasted. "Adopted."

Ah. Sycamore nods, understanding a bit more.

"Why? Why are you here?" He manages after closing the door.

"To celebrate the new year." How can he say that so causal? He removes his coat and places it onto the metal rack.

Sycamore made sure that no one could track him down...didn't he?

_That Raymond..._

"After your butler passed earlier this year, I received a letter with your address. His last wish was for us to know each other." Just as he expected.

_Damn that man._

"That was none of his concern," he mutters, shaking his head.

"I wished to visit you earlier but my schedule didn't clear till break."

"I don't wish for visitors."

"Not even family?"

A beat.

"It's what Raymond would have wanted. Besides, I haven't heard from you in so long-"

"You have no reason to concern yourself with my wellbeing!" The yell blasts throughout the home.

Kat jumps and hides behind her father, trembling. Layton places a hand on the back of her head. His own way of telling her it's all right.

"I'm afraid that's not the case. Whether you like it or not, I aim to stay true to a man's last wish." He walks past him and into the kitchen. "Flora?"

"Coming!" She giggles. Her specialty, some sort of mystery casserole in her hands.

"Warm up our dinner, will you?"

"E-Excuse me?" Sycamore stampers.

"By the looks of it, you haven't eaten in days." Layton makes notice of his brother's loose pullover. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I left something in the car." As he walks out, he asks Al to help his sister.

...

By the time Layton returns, the meal is plated: chicken, penne, and spinach casserole. Obviously, the girl received help in the kitchen when preparing the dish.

The children hold no fear of being in an unknown place, or at least don't show it. They sit like they would any other evening.

Layton pulls out a chair. "Come now." He signals to Sycamore.

Oh. Right. He sits down and glances down at his plate then around the table.

Layton sits beside him with such a big smile, it disgusted him.

He grimaces. Not like he would tell anyone, but the room smelled delicious as soon as the young girl peeled away the foil. Despite the chicken being chared and the spinach being mushy, it is one of the best meals he's eaten in a long time. His plate is clean in a matter of minutes.

"Children?" Hershel asks once everyone is done. "Could you give us a moment? I believe Mr. Sycamore'd living room has a TV - perhaps he would allow you to watch the new year's celebration?"

Flora pauses cleaning the dishes and looks at her uncle.

"Er, of course. Down the hall on the right."

One by one, they exit. Flora holds her sister's hand and guides her to the room.

"What is this about, Layton?" He ignores the question and walks out of the kitchen. He returns seconds later with a glittered box.

"The children decorated the exterior. My talents are lacking creatively." He places the present on the table where the man sits.

Such an open, generous heart. There's always room to add another lost soul - giving them a place to belong.

Of course, he brings a gift.

He pulls the ribbon from its tips and it comes undone effortlessly. The sides of the box fold down to reveal a silver-tinted menorah.

He stares into his reflection for a long moment. It's beyond beautiful. Who knew the man had decent tastes?

Their eyes meet.

A smile glosses over his brother's face. He places a hand on the man's shoulder. "It's an invitation. The children have their own, I thought you'd like one as well. For next year, of course."

Something hard forms in Sycamore's throat. He hugs the metal piece until he feels the coldness brush against his chest.

Despair hidden away comes rushing out like a flood. When a somber man experiences this type of feeling, emotions double, triple even.

Hot tears flow. He clutches his eyes shut and lowers his head into the object. It tings when his glasses meet the metal.

Layton hushes and rubs his back. He can feel his spine through his jacket poking out with sharp edges. His pressure softens.

Hairs stick up on Des's arms. When was the last time someone touched him? His entire body shivers.

These are quiet sobs. More like moaning than anything. They sound painful like someone is twisting a knife into his stomach.

He feels sick. Is it starvation? Yes, but starvation of what?

"I thank you," he manages between huffs. "But you," it doesn't come out quite right. He pauses, heaving a deep breath before continuing, "I can't."

"Hmm," he ponders, "Can't or won't?" A small chuckle, his face deeply sympathetic. "The offer will be forever on the table. You needn't decide now."

He nods and rubs his nose on his sleeve.

This time, Layton whispers, "Don't be afraid. Not anymore."

Sycamore freezes. "I'm not afraid of anything. Especially a fruitcake like yourself."

Layton can't help but laugh. After seeking to be so quiet, he lets out quite a riot. Well, a riot for the Professor. Sycamore laughs, not at his comeback, but for his reaction.

Different tears form in both sets of eyes.

A moment passes. Hershel hands the man a handkerchief. He takes it and daps his eyes.

"Daddy?" Kat leans in the doorway. "It's almost midnight, daddy." She takes a step forward but freezes when her eyes meet Sycamore.

His head swirls to the side, ashamed.

Layton glances at his brother. "Ah, is it? Give us a minute more." He winks at Kat, she nods in return and runs back into the living room. Once the coast is clear, he squeezes the other's shoulder. "Will you join us?" Not waiting for an answer, he pulls his brother out of the chair.

Sycamore nearly topples over. It doesn't take much for his brother to lift his body weight. He gasps, the air taken out of his lungs.

"I don't want them to see me like this," he begs. He grabs the other's sweater and pulls. As if that would put a stop to him. His teeth dig into his chapped lips; his knees lock.

"They're plenty distracted," he grunts, dragging his body. "I doubt they'll notice your presence."

"You saw the way your daughter looked at me!" He panics. His fist clenches tight enough where his bright blue veins pop underneath his pale skin.

The path to the doorway seems to expand further and further. Like a twisting hall, the room begins to swirl. Sweat forms at his forehead. His heart drops. Breathing slows.

"Desmond, you're going to be all right." Layton stops. "Close your eyes and tell yourself this."

He shakes his head once. "I can't do this, Layton. I can't forgive so easily. I can't move on."

"I'm not asking you to do such things. Just watch the celebration with us. It's all I'm asking."

"Like that's not damn hard enough?"

Layton sighs, tired.

His chest rises slowly. He's right.

This isn't asking much.

Sycamore closes his eyes.

_One..._

_Two..._

_Three..._

_It's going to be all right._

His eyes open.

The room returns to normal.

"All right." He slowly straightens his posture. His back pops. "Let's not keep them waiting any longer."

Layton's smile returns. Still holding onto his shoulder, he guides him to the other room.

Inside a tv buzzes. Sitting less than a foot away from the screen is Kat, leaning on her knees. Flora lays asleep on the couch while Al scribbles something in the dim light.

"Daddy!" She exclaims. She runs over and hugs his waist.

Layton chuckles and fixes his hat. "How much longer now?"

"Two minutes and twenty-five seconds!" She drags her father to the space in front of the TV and pushes him down. He signals for his brother to do the same.

He coughs and looks around the room. He was right, no one is paying attention. Finally, he settles next to the man and his daughter.

"I expect you to go to bed immediately after, understand?" Kat plumps down on Layton's lap.

"Uh-huh," she replies, not paying his commands any attention. "Daddy look-! Look at all the lights!"

Thousands hold candles and embrace their loved ones and mouth the countdown. The broadcast cuts to a wide shot of the Thames river where crowds form at its edges. One minute...

"Lights? What about the fireworks?" Sycamore mused. "Have you never seen as a celebration, child?"

"Huh?" Kat turns. "Fireworks?" She gasps, "Daddy, are we going to see fireworks?"

He nods. "If you watch carefully, you should see some, yes."

"I can do much better than that," Sycamore thought aloud.

"What do you mean "better?" Better than fireworks?" Kat jumps off her father's lap and stands in front Sycamore. "What's better than fireworks?"

"Oh, nothing beats fireworks. I can just give you a better view, that's all."

"Don't tell me you have some firecrackers hidden away somewhere? Kat is far too young for such things."

"No, well, just follow me." He stands and opens the door to the patio. Kat follows closely behind. A cold breeze blows into the room as soon as the door creaks open.

The young girl squints and sees nothing but darkness ahead. "What's out here?"

"You'll see." He leans on the railing.

The echo of the television escapes outside.

_Three..._

_Two..._

_One..._

_**Bang**!_

A parade of stars explodes in the sky. One after another, a whistling string of lights makes its way to the moon, then shatters into pieces.

Kat nearly screams in joy. She runs to her uncle and violently tugs his pants. "I wanna see more! More! More!"

He laughs and lifts the girl into the air and onto his shoulders. "That better?" He yells.

Instead of an answer, she grabs a hold of several chunks of hair and points above. "See that one? Oh, did you see that? How about that one?"

Flora wakes amidst a commotion. She looks around to see her brother still scribbling some nonsense. Where is everyone else?

Her father stands in the doorway. It's freezing, why is he out there? She hears Kat screaming. What is going on? She rubs her eyes as she makes way to the group.

"Professor?" She grumbles. No response. She blinks several times in an effort to force herself awake. "Professor," she tries again. Still, nothing. She turns to see his face.

He has the faintest of smiles. If she didn't know any better, there were tears in his eyes.

...

_Epilogue._

"Don't you think this is a fire hazard?"

There are now five menorahs sitting at the edge of the window. The children's are much smaller than Layton's and Sycamore's, but it remains crowded nonetheless.

Flora arranged them largest in back, closest to the window, and the rest nearest to her.

She swears there's a color-coded method, but that lacks to be seen.

"Nonsense." Layton approaches from behind wearing a dark red turtleneck. A key accessory is missing from his attire. "It looks swell, don't you agree?"

"This house will look swell when it's burned to the ground."

"Hush now." He places the shamash and strikes a match. After the candle is lit, he waves the match in the air - blowing it out.

"Can I do it, Daddy?" Kat stands on her tiptoes to see what's happening.

"Don't you think our guest should?"

She moans, "But Daddy-!"

"She's right. I'm not the head of this household. Thank god for that."

Layton laughs. "I insist, brother."

A beat.

He hasn't heard that in so long. Brother. Yes, he is his brother, isn't he?

"Something the matter?" Layton asks, beginning to worry.

"No, no." He snaps back to reality and lifts the candle. "Just haven't heard that name in a while." The first candle is now lit. He puts the assistant back into its holder.

Kat cheers then ask, "Now what?"

"Quiet time," Sycamore answers. "Can you manage?"

"For how long?"

Layton and his brother spent a week together the following holiday as promised. Despite his family growing considerably, his home remained outrageously small. (To Sycamore's standard). He begged Layton to allow him to purchase something more accommodating. Of course, he refused. He seemed to even get offended when he offered to buy him a new car.

During the hour after lighting each candle, they would share herring stories of digs and burial grounds and mysteries. Layton's children in awe of such achievements the both had made.

Sycamore hadn't smiled this much in over a decade.

For the first time, he could go a day without his mind wandering off into the unknown. He had taken his brother's advice to seek treatment for his grief. After a year, he believed he had a decent cocktail of medication that took off the edge. Layton noticed the difference but kept to himself.

At the end of the vacation, he vowed to return more often to the Layton household. The children forced him to promise to bring more lavish gifts. How could he resist?

He left shaking his brother's hand. As he turned, he decided that wasn't enough - he hugged him for a spilled-second. "Tell anyone and you will suffer greatly, understood?"

Still shaken, Layton manages a quiet, loving, "Understood."

**Author's Note:**

> I like seeing characters seek help, makes me feel like there is hope for me yet. Sorry, that was fake deep --I'm still a brat like Sycamore.


End file.
